


Come to Your Senses

by UzbekistanRules



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jack is a dick, dad!Gabriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 17:43:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8294549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UzbekistanRules/pseuds/UzbekistanRules
Summary: Jesse McCree has been a part of Blackwatch for a month. Things take a turn for the worse when his first review comes up and it's less than glowing.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hard Garbage](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Hard+Garbage).



> Based off of this by hardgarbage. And damn, did I want to write it after seeing it. So here it is!

One month review. He couldn’t wait. He had made Commander Reyes proud. Best damn shot. And Jesse cleaned up nice when he wore fresh clothing every day, showered more than once a week, had three solid meals in him. He knew he was going to get a good review. He knew he was going to stay. Jesse _wanted_ to stay. He hadn’t ever been in prison before, but he had heard the horror stories. Given the choice, he would choose Overwatch any day. Crack shooting didn’t mean shit behind bars. Here... well it contributed a lot.

He jangled his spurs in a happy little rhythm as he walked into Commander Morrison’s office. Jesse mosied on up to the huge desk and waited while the commander finished something else up. He watched Morrison set aside the old fashioned pen and paper aside, fold his hands on top of the desk and stare straight at Jesse. He couldn’t read the guy. The cowboy deflated a little. Was... everything okay?

“Agent McCree.” It was a dangerously neutral tone in the commander. “Have a seat.”

Jesse frowned a little internally as he did as he was told. He was only ‘Agent McCree’ with Commander Reyes when he was in deep shit. He didn’t know about Commander Morrison. He hadn’t seen the guy but three times before this. All of those times though... he had used first names. Alright. So he was in trouble. What did he do wrong now?

Dread started clawing up Jesse’s throat as papers were shuffled around, a manilla file folder found from a stack that held even more of them, the contents opened and reviewed. Sweat started to bead up on his forehead. Commander Morrison was too damn passive for his liking.

“Range scores are impressive. You are keeping up with people five years your seniors. Physical scores and intellectual aptitude could use improvement, but they are much better than when we first tested you. Gabriel practically raves about you. All in all, a fine job.”

Jesse could do nothing but nod, the knot a physical thing in his throat. Where was it? Where was the other boot? It needed to drop.

“However-” Yep. There it was. Jesse’s stomach dropped. What was he in trouble for now? Was it the kid in Uzbekistan? The omnic that got away in Portugal? The time he nearly killed his entire team in Chile?

Commander Morrison leaned back. Looked him up and down and frowned. “This has to stop.”

That stopped all of his horses all at once. “Come again?” Belatedly, he remembered the sir.

“Come to your senses, Agent McCree. You are an _agent_ of Overwatch. It’s time you started looking like one. This isn’t an old Western, this isn’t the Southwest and this surely isn’t Deadlock. If you cannot take your new job- your new life- seriously, I am going to recommend that you be let go.”

No. No that can’t happen. No, no, no, no-

“Dismissed. And send in Maheswaran when you leave.”

\- - - - -

Gabriel nearly missed Jesse in the line up. Without the hat, he looked just like everyone else at first glance. Actually... Now that he was looking, kid wasn’t wearing his usual get up. Everything had been replaced with the very things Jesse had sworn up one way and down another that he’d never wear. Black shit with the Overwatch symbol on the left breast. Drab olive cargo pants. Black combat boots, polished to a mirror shine. Standard issue. No spurs. No hat. No serape. No belt. No chaps. The little nothing of a beard that he had been so desperately trying to grow out was gone. His hair seemed shorter. And he didn’t have a cigarillo clamped between his teeth. Instead... he was chewing gum.

Gabriel didn’t dwell on it as his squad began to run laps around the track. Wasn’t allowed to dwell on it as he went about his day. He had half a million things better to dwell on than the change in Jesse’s costume. But still, he had to ask if everything was okay. It was his job to make sure his men were alright, after all. 

He caught the kid as they were both heading to lunch. Thankfully, Jesse stopped when Gabriel’s hand landed on his shoulder. Thankfully. “Hey Jesse. Everything alright?”

“Yessir. Everything is fine.” Gabriel was shocked. The hell happened to the kid’s accent? Why in the hell did he look so... dead? Something wasn’t right. There was no way in hell that everything was alright. He was about to open his mouth when Jack came up right beside him and cut him off. Fucking Morrison.

“Agent McCree! I almost didn’t recognize you there. You clean up nicely.”

Jack missed the pained flicker in Jesse’s eyes. Gabriel didn’t. “Thank you, sir,” the kid muttered, looking off into the middle distance.

“It’s about time you started to take this seriously. I’m sure you’ll grow to be one of our best agents in the years to come. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even beat out Gabriel and I!” Jack laughed a bit at himself.

But instead of blooming under the praise, Jesse got a look on his face like he had just been sucker punched in the gut. Gabriel felt him wilt under his hand. His heart broke for the kid. “Thank you, sir,” Jesse repeated again, practically mumbling under his breath.

“Well, I’m sure we’re keeping you from something. Gabriel, I do need to talk to you about the conference coming up in Barcelona...”

Jesse took that as his cue to leave. He shrugged himself out of Gabriel’s grasp and hurried off into the vague direction of the mess hall. The Blackwatch commander was sure he wasn’t going to eat.

Alright. Gabriel prided himself on his mental prowess. So... what had happened yesterday to make Jesse ‘No-one-can-tell-me-what-to-do’ McCree do this 180?

Jack kept yammering on about the conference or convention or whatever it was. Though he heard himself responding, he wasn’t paying any attention to what Morrison was saying. All he could think about was one brokenhearted cowboy, probably in his room and crying his eyes out.

\- - - - -

Yesterday at 1811, Jesse disappeared. He had been seen last carrying bags from the on-site store. He had made those purchases at 1803. Items included a newspaper, moth balls, a shaving kit, two shower caps, and nicotine gum. The clerk on duty had described Jesse as ‘heartbroken, but doing his best to hide it.’

At 1700, Jesse had been given his 30 day review by John ‘Jack’ Morrison. He had been described by people who saw him eating in the mess at 1715 as ‘looking really upset bout summin.’ He also barely touched his food which was ‘fucking weird for Jesse, sir.’ When confronted about his abnormal behavior, Jesse had told those who inquired it was about his love life. They had commiserated and dropped the subject.

It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Morrison had said something cutting about the ‘cowboy act.’ Jesse had taken it to heart. But it was his heart that was paying the price for something that honestly didn’t matter too much to anyone but Morrison himself.

Gabriel Reyes was going to kill Jack Morrison. But first, Gabriel Reyes was going to bring back Jesse McCree.

\- - - - -

“Oye! You call that shootin’ vaquero!? You couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn in that position!” For the umpteenth time that week, Jesse reminded himself that he couldn’t cold cock his superior. Doing so would probably have him out of here and into prison faster than he could say ‘I’m sorry.’

Why was Commander Reyes doing this though? He couldn’t understand the reasoning behind it. He was doing the best he could to fit in. He was wearing what everyone else was wearing, doing all of the same things everyone else does, using all of the same weapons that everyone else was using. Wasn’t this what they wanted? For him to set aside all of the childish things of his past and become a man? A soldier? A true agent of Overwatch?

“Reposition and run it again, cowboy. And remember that you’re aiming for the little rings, not the paper around it.”

“Yes _sir_.” Jesse gritted his teeth and tried again. Six shots. Four misses. Two in the third ring. His arms were shaking in rage. His hands were shaking in fatigue. Beretta M9. Standard issue pistol. So why could he not hit worth a good goddamn? Six more shots. Five misses. One in the second ring. Goddamnit. He shook out his arms and tried one final time. Last three shots. All three misses.

Fuck this. Jesse field stripped the pistol, took it back to the quartermaster and stormed off. He wasn’t running away. He was going to the gym and beat his fists against something that wouldn’t hit back. This is what they wanted. They gave Jesse a second chance. He wasn’t going to waste it. He wasn’t a cowboy any more. This is what they wanted. So why the hell was Commander Reyes mocking him about it? How much more did they want of him? How less of a cowboy could he possibly get? He couldn’t. He couldn’t without trying to change nationalities and he would be fucked before he tried to pass himself off as anything other than American. Canadian. Maybe. But that was delving into a different stereotype. The only one Jesse should be interested in is ‘soldier.’ 

He had just wrapped his hands when a voice cut across everyone one else’s. “Where the fuck is my cowboy at?!”

God. Damn. Gabriel. Reyes. It was another knife in his heart. Another small torment in a long series of tortures. When would it end? When would this hell finally stop? What did they want? He wasn’t a cowboy. So why did Commander Reyes keep acting like nothing had changed? Everything had changed. Why keep up with the stupid nickname? Why the deliberate acts to hurt Jesse more? Why, why, _why_?

Jesse looked up as he saw Commander Reyes stalked up to him. “There you are cowboy! Why the hell did you leave?”

“I thought it would be best if I just left. I didn’t want to waste any more bullets, sir.”

“Listen to me, vaquero. You will go back in there and you will shoot until you hit a bullseye or so help me you will sit on your spurs for the rest of the week! Do you hear me!?” Jesse reminded himself that he could not punch his commander.

“Yessir.”

\- - - - -

It was 0234 when Jesse McCree finally stormed into his office. It was about time. Gabriel kept that thought to himself. He wondered how long it took the kid to psyche himself up. Lights out was at 2200. Four hours. He wondered if the kid had found some courage at the bottom of a bottle or three.

“Listen here, sir,” the kid started and Gabriel leaned against his desk. “I don’t get it. I start taking this job seriously and you’re on my ass about the cowboy shit! This is my second chance, I’m taking this seriously! Don’t think that I’m not! I mean, why the hell else would I be wearing this!?” He gestures to himself, the cargo pants and the black shirt. Kid’s not even wearing boots. Damn. Been eating at him for a spell.

“You and Commander Morrison want me to be serious. Here I am, serious. Proper. Grown up. So why call attention to the fact that I’m still a kid!? I know that I’m only seventeen. I know I’m just a snot nosed brat. I know I shouldn’t even be here, I’m only here because you want me to be here and you fought like hell. I get that. I’m _grateful_ sir. I really am. Why do you think I’m trying my hardest to be anything but not me? I’m _trying_. I stopped smoking, I stopped the whole cowboy schtick-” Jesse’s voice caught on the last two words but like a trooper he carried on, “I’m keeping up with everyone and yeah my range scores have gone down but that’s because I’m adjusting to the standard issue stuff. So stop riding my ass about the cowboy shit, okay!? I’m not a cowboy anymore okay!? Because... That’s not who I am any more...”

Gabriel tilted his head as Jesse shook- in rage or trying to hold back tears, it was even odds- before the kid inhaled and finally looked at his boss. “So- what the hell do you _want_ from me, huh? Just what in the hell do you _want_!?”

For one terrible moment, there was silence in the office. Gabriel thought that the kid would take the two steps necessary to get to the desk and punch the ever loving fuck out of his boss. But Gabriel finally let out a long winded sigh. “Look. Mijo. If you wanna stop being a cowboy, I ain’t gonna make a fuss over it no more, yeah? I don’t give a shit and no one else on this base does either. But this-?” He made a gesture to Jesse’s outfit, as if it personally offended his sainted grandmother, “has got to stop if it’s making you miserable. If you’re trying to pretend to be somethin’ you ain’t, I ain’t gonna stand for that.”

That took all of the wind out of Jesse’s sails for sure. “But-”

“Jesse. Come to your senses. If it had really bugged me at all- even a little bit- I would have said something at the very start of your tenure in my care. Hell kid, I don’t care. What you look like is your own damn business. If you want to be a cowboy or a princess or a ballerina or an astronaut then that’s your decision. That’s your right and that’s your choice. As long as you obey orders and turn your paperwork in on time and shoot a gun, then I _do not give a shit what you look like_.” Jesse looked like he was going to die from the shock. Gabriel had to do his best not to grin like a fucking fiend at that look. Damn, now he wished he had a camera, just so he could keep that look forever frozen in time.

“And you not bein’ a cowboy? Is a fucking travesty. Seriously.” Gabriel leaned down to unlock a drawer on his desk and rifle through it a bit. “I ain’t here to be your friend, that’s true. But I ain’ gonna stand here and let you hurt yourself trying to be anything that isn’t Jesse McCree. And Jesse McCree? Is a goddamned cowboy.” A long box was pulled out from the drawer. Gabriel slid it closed before standing and moving to the stunned runt of a kid. 

The gun that laid inside was beautiful. She was a custom model, based off of the Peacekeepers of the Old West. Six shots. Smooth action. Hell, the smith had been a little cheeky and added a spur at the butt of it. She was one of a kind, and had cost a fortune... even with the favors the smith had owed him. But hey- kid didn’t need to know that.

Jesse looked at the gun like it was a holy relic. He was in awe of the thing. “Do whatever you want, kid. Long as you’re doin’ what _I_ tell you, and not gettin’ in too much trouble, it doesn’t fuckin’ matter. And if anybody gives you shit about this?” Gabriel leaned down, only continuing when the kid looked him in the eyes. “You can tell ‘m to come fuck with _me_.”

The anger and pain in the kid’s eyes was fading, replaced with something else. Awe. Wonder. Comprehension. Kid knew what Gabriel had done for him, even if it was only vaguely. He had to stop that look. So he slapped the kid’s shoulder, jarring both of them back into reality. “So get out of that getup! Gives me fucking heartburn just looking at it. And you might wanna consider making some friends too so they can tell you your fashion choices are shit for you.”

Gabriel turned and walked back to his desk at the slightly watery ‘yessir.’ He just waved a hand, not wanting to ruin the kid’s image by turning around and seeing him on the verge of tears. “Now get the hell out of my office. And mind what I said.”

What he hadn’t been expecting was the quick- and yet fierce- hug from behind. Before he could do anything about it, Jesse was already closing the door behind himself in his haste to get back to his bunk and play with his new toy. Gabriel just had to chuckle at that. “Just like me at that age...”

\- - - - -

Jack looked like he had eaten an entire package of lemons in one sitting. That’s how distressed he was over Jesse’s new/old outfit change. Kid was back in the outfit that suited him best. From hat to spurs, he looked exactly as he should. Gabriel was pleased to note that the gun already had a holster. A good one. It didn’t look quite right with the ensemble yet, but he needed one like right now and he couldn’t fault the kid for picking one right of the of the racks. He could get one later.

“He was making such progress!” Gabriel heard his friend grouse and that was it. He laid one massive paw on Jack’s shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie about one Jesse McCree.

“Look. Jack. Cabaron. Look at Jesse. _Really_ look at him.” He forced Jack to see the kid, the way he moved and the way he grinned fiercely and the way he moved with a swagger in his step like he owned the world. “You see that kid? See how _happy_ he is?”

“Well yes, only because he’s getting away with-”

“Ain’t gettin’ away with nu- _thing_ cabaron. I want him to look like that because it makes him happy.”

Jack’s brow furrowed in anger and consternation. “Gabriel-”

“John Morrison, you do anything to endanger that smile and I will make you pay for the gun that I had to buy to bring that smile back.” Gabriel wasn’t smiling. He was deadly serious and Jack knew it. Corn Boy gulped and looked away.

“Ah, just... _how_ much did it cost again?”

Gabriel clucked at him. “If you gotta ask, it’s too expensive. Too expensive even with your _considerable_ paycheck.” 

The two of them looked back at Jesse, who was getting his back damn near slapped off by a few of his fellow Blackwatch agents. 

“He’s my kid, Morrison. He’s my responsibility and I know you’re the only one on base who cares about shit like that. So fuck off. It’s not hurting anyone for him to look like that.”

“... He does look happy like that, doesn’t he?”

“Hell yeah he does. And I intend to keep him that way.”


End file.
